Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester
CHAPTER TWELVE: Mile-High Connection
The cabin lights dimmed on the commercial flight from Reagan National to Billings, the last leg home to Big Sandy. Senator Jon Tester, still riding the filthy high from his airport send-off with Jack Lucas, shifted his 6’1”, 300-pound frame in the wide seat. His graying flattop was slightly mussed, piercing blue eyes scanning the rows when they landed on a familiar round, expressive face two seats over in first class: Joel McKinnon Miller, the Brooklyn Nine-Nine actor, looking every bit the stocky Midwestern everyman at 5’11” and comfortably overweight. Same signature gray-brown flattop, warm blue eyes, thin smiling lips, fair ruddy skin dusted with light body hair peeking from his open collar. Miller’s black watch sat on his left wrist beside a gold wedding band, his broad shoulders and noticeable man-tits stretching a casual button-up shirt, sturdy hairy legs crossed under loose pants.
Tester’s thick cut 8-inch cock twitched at the memory of Lucas’s load still faintly leaking in his briefs. Hell, why not? he thought, that pragmatic farm-boy boldness surging. He leaned across the aisle with his deep, folksy Montana drawl.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re that Scully fella from the cop show, ain’t ya? Jon Tester. Pleasure to meet a fellow flattop man.”
Miller’s resonant, opera-trained Midwestern baritone rumbled with easygoing charm, warm gravelly tone carrying hints of Lutheran humility and quirky humor.
“Senator Tester! Big fan of your no-nonsense style. Joel McKinnon Miller. Grew up a small-town boy like you.”
They chatted low through the flight; Tester swapping DC stories and farm tales from the family homestead near Big Sandy, Miller sharing stories of Hollywood and raising kids with his wife Tammy back in low-key LA, complete with their beloved dog Elliot. The easy folksy rapport crackled with something hotter. By the time they landed in Billings and headed through the quiet terminal, Tester’s heavy low-hanging balls ached for round two.
“Flight was smoother than a fresh-plowed field,” Tester growled as they reached a family restroom near baggage claim, the area nearly deserted late evening. “But I got this itch that needs scratchin’, Miller. You game? Quick and dirty.”
Miller’s blue eyes widened, then crinkled with that loyal, humorous spark. His voice dropped to a resonant hum.
“Well, Senator… I’ve played a lot of parts, but never this one. Tammy’s back home, and I’m just a humble Minnesota boy. But damn if your charm ain’t got me curious.”
He glanced around, then nodded, gold band glinting as he pushed the door open.
Inside the locked stall, Tester wasted no time. His weathered left hand; scarred stump and two fingers, reached out and caressed Miller’s broad chest through the shirt, feeling the soft, ample man-tits.
“Goddamn, Miller, these are somethin’ else. Like ripe melons on a sturdy farm boy.”
He popped the buttons open one by one, exposing the light body hair and plump, rounded pecs. Tester’s full lips latched onto one fat nipple, sucking hard with wet, hungry pulls, tongue flicking the stiff bud while his right hand kneaded the other, pinching and rolling. Miller moaned, the sound rich and operatic, gravelly baritone vibrating.
“Oh hell, Senator… that mouth of yours… damn. Suck ‘em good… makes this old Lutheran feel downright sinful.”
Tester growled around the tit, “Taste like honest Midwest sweat, boy. Been wantin’ to get my hands on these since I saw you.”
He switched sides, slurping noisily, spit trailing down Miller’s soft belly as his own prominent gut pressed close. His thick 8-inch cock strained against his black pants, blunt rosy head leaking. Miller dropped to his knees on the tile, blue eyes looking up with quirky humility.
“Your turn, Senator. Let’s see what a Montana farmer packs.”
He unzipped Tester, freeing the heavy cut cock and low-hanging balls nestled in dense graying pubes. Miller’s warm mouth engulfed the wide head, plump lips stretching around the blunt girth. He sucked with surprising skill, opera breath control letting him take it deep, throat relaxing as he bobbed, resonant hums vibrating along the shaft.
“Mmmph… thick as a prize bull,” he mumbled around it, pulling off to lap at the heavy balls, sucking one then the other into his mouth, tongue bathing the coarse hair while his hand stroked the slick 8 inches in firm, twisting pulls. Tester’s scarred left hand guided Miller’s head, stump pressing into his scalp.
“That’s it, Miller… suck it like you’re singin’ for your supper. Goddamn, your mouth’s tighter than a combine belt.”
Precum coated Miller’s tongue as he jerked Tester’s shaft fast, thumb circling the rosy slit, then dove back down, gagging wetly with spit dripping onto his own man-tits.
Tester pulled him up, voice rough.
“Bend over the sink, boy. I’m gonna fuck that soft ass proper.”
Miller braced his stocky frame, dropping his pants and bending forward, exposing his soft, rounded, lightly hairy butt. Tester spat thick into his palm, slicked his fat 8-inch cock until it gleamed, then pressed the blunt rosy head against Miller’s tight pink pucker. He rubbed the wide tip in slow circles, teasing the rim until it fluttered, then pushed forward. The tight ring resisted for a heartbeat before popping open around the thick head with a wet, obscene stretch.
“Aww, fuck, Miller… that hole’s grippin’ me like a brand-new vise on a tractor axle,” Tester growled, feeding another inch, feeling the silky-hot walls clench and ripple around his shaft. Miller’s breath hitched in a resonant groan.
“Jesus Christ, Senator… you’re splittin’ me wide open. Burn’s so damn good.”
Tester sank deeper, inch by fat inch, until his dense graying pubes nestled against Miller’s soft cheeks and his heavy low-hanging balls pressed snug against the actor’s taint. The heat inside was velvet-smooth and furnace-hot, Miller’s inner muscles fluttering and squeezing rhythmically like a well-trained throat. Tester pulled back until just the blunt head remained trapped inside the stretched rim, then slammed forward in one powerful farm-boy thrust, burying himself balls-deep. The wet slap of flesh echoed in the stall as he started pounding, long, deliberate strokes that made Miller’s soft rounded ass cheeks jiggle and ripple with every impact. Each thrust dragged the wide rosy head across Miller’s prostate, forcing a deep, operatic moan from the actor’s gravelly throat.
“Goddamn, your ass is suckin’ me in like it’s hungry for seed,” Tester grunted, hips snapping harder, sweat dripping from his ruddy face onto Miller’s back.
He reached around with his scarred left hand, the rough stump and fingers wrapping around Miller’s thick 6-inch cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, callused palm smearing the steady flow of precum leaking from the plump mushroom head. Miller’s sturdy hairy legs trembled, man-tits swaying as he pushed back to meet every pounding stroke.
“Harder, Senator… fuck that hole. I can feel every thick vein rubbin’ my spot… fuck.”
Tester obliged, shifting to short, brutal jabs that kept his cockhead hammering Miller’s prostate relentlessly. The tight channel clenched and pulsed around him, milking the shaft with silky contractions, the lube of spit and precum making every slide audibly wet and filthy. Tester’s own heavy balls swung and slapped loudly against Miller’s taint, the sensation building like a thunderstorm over the Montana plains.
“Take this big Montana cock, you opera-singin’ sonofabitch. Feel it rearrangin’ your guts… stretchin’ that pretty hole wide enough to drive a pickup through.”
Miller’s resonant baritone broke into whimpers and gasps, his soft body rocking forward with every deep thrust.
“Don’t cum inside me, Senator. I ain’t ready for that kinda mess on the way home to Tammy and the kids.”
Tester’s pace grew frantic, belly slapping against Miller’s back, scarred hand still jerking the actor’s leaking cock. At the edge he yanked out with a wet pop, the stretched hole gaping open for a moment, pink and shiny, before clenching shut. He spun Miller around, stroking his own 8-inch cock furiously with his good right hand while the scarred left tugged his heavy balls.
“Open wide and stick out that chest, boy.”
Thick ropes erupted; first blasting across Miller’s round expressive face, splattering his thin smiling lips, blue eyes, and flattop, then painting his ample man-tits and soft belly in hot, white streaks that dripped down through the light body hair. Miller’s own thick cock jerked untouched, spurting onto the floor as he moaned long and low in that warm gravelly voice.
They cleaned up quick, Tester chuckling with folksy humor.
“Hell of a layover, Miller. You sing as good as you take dick.”
Miller wiped his face, gold band flashing, and grinned.
“Pleasure’s all mine, Senator. Safe travels back to the farm.”
Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of Jon Tester or Joel McKinnon Miller. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.
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